Loser

Naturally, there are times when things simply stand still: As if the world has stopped turning & people are caught hibernating in mid-acts. Her words like driftwood on the sand of her tongue, her eyes like icicles floating in air, & everybody frozen in the cusp of past & present – the future hovering over the vault of nothing.

The universe suspending its motion & God dozing off to sleep are the miracles he sometimes wishes for so he can steer clear of the path of the onrushing truth: She’s a monad, existing in her own time & space.

“Yup, but the world won’t stop spinning even when one steps out of the room.”

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